


Ian's Australian Girlfriend

by Squeakyshroom



Category: Filthy Frank - Fandom, Maxmoefoe - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, idubbbz - Fandom
Genre: AU where neither of them have girlfriends, Dom/sub, Elements of dubcon, Humilation, Ian gets off on how soft Max is, M/M, Max gets off on being used, Sub!Max, dom!Ian, gay slurs, internalized homphobia, no safe words, unsafe power play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 11:47:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11274780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeakyshroom/pseuds/Squeakyshroom
Summary: Max and Ian go to a gay bar, and shit gets pretty gay.Or: Max is loud. Ian shuts him up.





	Ian's Australian Girlfriend

It's all Chad's fault: put that on Ian's headstone. Chad is the one who suggested that they should go out to a gay bar. Why? For the fucking memes. It was such a bad idea that he said yes, so here he is -on a Friday night- squeezed between Max and Chad.

Ian watches as neon dicks bob up and down a silver pole. Bounce. Bounce. Rainbow lights reflect off of his glasses as he takes a deep sip of his beer. Yep, this is just so fucking funny. Not.

"Aw, look at this glum motherfucker," Max snickers and ribs him. "Don't worry, Ian; the dudes here aren't into cunts."

"Then I guess you don't stand a chance," Ian snipes. Max is "ironically" dressed up in a rainbow muscle tee, and, when his shirt rides up, Ian can see the pokeballs on the waist band of his undies. Max retaliates by tickling him, and then they're both all over each other. Nothing like a little guy-on-guy tickle fight in a gay bar.

Chad interrupts with a belch: "Hey, faggots. Who'd you think would get more numbers?"

"It's pretty obvious I would," Max confidently slurs. "I mean look at me- I'mma gay dudes wet dream. They'd cum all over this fucking face. I'd have dicks slapping every inch of my skin."

"See, normally I'd agree with you; however, I'm American and buzzed, and you're a sloppy Australian mess. So while there's a lotta dudes like you here, Max, there's not a lot like me. Hence, I'd be rolling in numbers and more dicks per square inch of skin. I mean that's just simple supply and demand theory."

"Blah blah blah. Supply my dick!" Max shouts into his ear. "You've got no lips and no game while I'm fucking crashing the economy with my dick sucking lips. You- you underestimate the power of a pretty face when there's gay guys involved."

Max is the kind of red rimmed and slurring drunk that's only sexy to sleazy sleazes. Ian has the distinct advantage of being able to form coherent sentences.

"I'd bet you one hundred American dollars then."

"Oh, deal," Max decides and slams his hands down on the table. "That's fucking easy money that's what that is. These cocks'll jus' be alllll over me. Jus'-jus' you fucking wait."

"Okay then. You've got ten minutes to collect numbers. You're lucky I'm not recording this shit."

Max pushes Ian to get out of the booth and stumbles over to the bar. Ian has to admire the tightness of his ass and- shit, maybe he's underestimated Max's chance. Sure, he's sloppy-black-out-drunk, but he's also got a smile that'll light up the whole room. Something twists in Ian's stomach as he watches Max easily chat up a surfer dude.

"Heh. Looks like yer gonna lose," Chad chuckles. It's hard to see clearly through the blur of the crowd. All Ian knows is that surfer dude is starting to get really handsy- running his fingers through Max's hair. Ian grits his teeth. This isn't even funny. Now that dude's touching up on Max's waist, and Ian's grin has turned into a grimace. This fucker better fuck off before-

"Aw, hell nah!"

"Ian, wait his time's not up-"

"Shut up. That bitch just groped Max's ass."

Ian roughly pushes his way through a gaggle of go go dancers, and he possessively slings his hand over Max's shoulder. Eyes locked on the surfer dude, he firmly squeezes, trying to assert his ownership over Max. Did he imagine that shiver? Maybe. All he knows is he needs to help his friend escape from this handsy -and muscular!- motherfucker.

"Oh, hey, please excuse my, uh, girlfriend. She's quite drunk, so her IQ has dropped down to legally retarded. I don't think we can hold'er responsible, so if you don't mind, I'm just gonna take her home-"

Max squirms against his grip: "Wha'? Fuck off. I- I got this. Johnny here was just about to give me his number, weren't you, darling?"

"Yeah," Johnny says, flexing his arm and raising his eyebrow. "And I don't think your 'girlfriend' wants to go home with you, mate."

Max is still squirming, trying to wriggle away, but his eyes are also sparkling, daring Ian to stop him. This is some sorta mind game shit. All Ian wants to do is be a good friend. Why can't Max just play along?

"She's just being difficult," Ian grits. "Aren't we, princess?"

"No, wanna win, you cunt. Leggo," Max whines, and Ian -who's maybe drunker than he's realized?- decides there's only one good way to shut Max up for good.

He leans in and pecks Max on the lips but then stays there, lingering for a moment too long. Max tastes like his last drink- a combination of bitter liquor and sweet pineapples. Ian pulls away, and Max, eyes wide, is silent, and then his face breaks into a shit eating grin.

 _Oh no,_ Ian thinks as his lip tingle. _What have I done?_

The surfer leaves with an eye roll and a grumble about "fucking couples," but Max's eyes are now hot against Ian's. There's the strangest combination of darkness and a mischievous glimmering.

"Girlfriend, _huh_? Bet'chu were scared to lose, so you decided to play dirty..."

Max's hot breathe ghosts against his ear as he speaks, and Ian shivers. He hopes Chad isn't watching them, but it's pretty crowded, so he feels safe to lean back. If Max wants to play this game, Ian's ready to play.

"Nah. Had to protect your virgin, Aussie ass from getting rawed, cunt," he snarks. Logical. That's the only reason Ian did what he did, nothing else.

But Max is still giddy -all up in his personal space- as he continues to tease Ian.

"Why'd you call me your girlfriend, huh? Freudian slip, mate? Been wanking at night to the thought of me dressed up in panties? Sucking your big American cock?"

"Shutdafuckup."

Drunk Max has quite the way with words, and the image of Max dressed in frilly thigh highs and panties, kneeling between his open legs, involuntarily flashes in his mind. Ian squeezes the back of Max's neck, and he kinda wants to kiss him again just to shut him up.

"You really don't wanna finish the game? Cause I was gonna win, huh?"

"No," Ian says a little harsher than he intended. "I don't want to play because it's not funny. These poor dudes gonna go home thinking you're gonna call them, but in reality you're going home with me."

"Oh, possessive."

"Maybe I am. So stop acting like a slut; be a good girl and sit down. _Now_."

Ian doesn't miss the involuntarily hitch of Max's breath and the way his eyes darken a shade. He doesn't read into it, not even a little. Instead, Ian tightens his grip around Max's shoulder and leads him back to their table. Chad, who's clearly been scrolling his phone the whole time, greets them with a middle finger and a "sup fags? who won?"

"Trump. Get over it."

Max laughs into Ian's shoulder, Chad shrugs, and Ian tells them it's time to stop.

That should have been the end of it.

\------------

Except Max is...Max. He stumbles into Ian's room and declares that this is "his bed since they're dating and shit." Ian rolls his eyes and tugs off his sweater. Whatever. They've shared a bed before, and this is Max's house, so Ian can't really tell him to get out, right? He kicks off his pants and socks. When he looks down, Max is leaning against the pillows and watching him with parted lips. Ian's drunk-horny mind conjures up the image of Max with painted lips and panties. Max dresses in drag enough that it's easy to picture and- shit, what is he doing?

"Help me," Max whines as he struggles to wriggle out of his rainbow shirt. He looks so helpless and cute. Ian resists the urge to tickle him and actually helps him out of his clothes instead. Ok, maybe he does sneak in a little tickle, but it's purely for revenge. Max has been a pain in the ass all night.

"My girlfriend's an idiot, huh?" Ian says, voice too soft to be snarky. "It's a good thing you're pretty."

Ian snickers at the pokeball boxers and adds "pretty dorky." Sometimes Max is a parody of himself. Max is too drunk to comprehend the diss, and he curls up into Ian's side like a content kitten.

"Aw, you think I'm pretty," Max slurs as he tries to scoot closer, but Ian pushes Max back. It's just a bit of "Australian banter" or whatever, but Max is also dangerously soft. In the dark, Ian's horny body could easily mistake Max's thighs and lips for a girl. The bittersweet kiss from earlier makes his lips tingle. There's a moment of silence that's quickly ruined by a drunken giggle and the squeak of the bed.

"Hey, Eudups," Max whispers as he wraps his arms around his waist. 

"What, cunt?"

"I'm gayyyyy."

"Ugh, shutdafuckup," Ian moans and pushes him back again. "Trying to get some fucking sleep round here, so stay on your side. It's too hot to cuddle."

Max giggles and disobediently cuddles up to him anyways: "Who's hot? You hot for me? Well, since you were were cock blocking me earlier, you gotta- gotta put out. That's what a good boyfriend would do."

Ian sighs and halfheartedly slaps away Max's fingers, which re-curl around his waist in an instant. Max isn't usually this touchy-feely. He's drunk though, so Ian's willing to close his eyes to the queer (pun intended) behavior.

Max nuzzles his face into the crook of Ian's neck. The air is thick with something, and it makes Ian's cock twitch against his tight boxers. He can't sleep with this erratic pounding in his chest, and the growing problem of Max's soft lips brushing against his heated skin is...irritating. Ian tries to hold his breath, waiting for Max's breathing to even. No use. Max is wide awake and making evil, breathy noises into his ears. What a dick.

"Max. Off," Ian orders, but this only excites Max more. He's like an over sized puppy, eagerly nosing into Ian's neck, pawing at his waist. Looking...looking for what? Affection, maybe. Attention, for sure.

"I'm your girlfriend, cunt. Gotta treat me right. Come on. Come on," Max's jumped words are an erotic vibration against Ian's ear. He can't help how his chest twists at the tempting tenor. He can't help that he's confused by Max's plush lips and raspy whisper. That would explain Ian's flushed cheeks, which he tries to hide in his pillow, but Max won't stop. Now he's pressing little kisses into the nape of Ian's neck, and his eyelashes brush against Ian's bare skin. Oh, fuck.

Frustrated, Ian turns around and grabs Max's wrists: "Fucking handsy tonight, aren't you? You really want me to treat you like my girlfriend? Huh?"

" _Yeah_ ," Max says, breathless for some reason. Ian looks down at where he still has his hands holding down Max's wrists. Usually, he'd analyze what that means. Does Max have some sort of submission kink? A girlfriend kink? Tonight, he's having none of that analysis.

"Then shut up," he orders. "And turn over onto your side like a good little bitch. Some of us are trying to get some sleep 'round here."

It's fucked up -sure- but it's the only way Ian can get Max to stay silent. They've crossed a line. Ian's sure of it as soon as he spoons Max, holding him like he's special. Max makes a contented noise as Ian presses him to his chest. And- fuck, Max _is_ soft. He's got the smallest bump of a belly, which Ian lets his fingers go down to caress. He circles his thumbs around it in soothing circular motions. Max responds with a strangled whimper -somewhere between lust and annoyance- that can't be faked.

This isn't a joke; there's nothing funny about the way Ian's running his hands up and down Max's soft skin, practically petting him. There's nothing funny about the throbbing of Ian's hardening cock. Max must feel it against his ass because he suddenly goes still.

"You're fucking soft," Ian whispers like a half-assed apology. He should stop. He should.

There's a pause. Ian stares out into the darkness, aware that his cock is semi and pressed up against his best friend's ass. Aware that now is the time to stop and pull back.

"But I'm yer....yer fucking girlfriend. Should be soft," Max explains, and there's an unmistakable desperation to his voice. He doesn't pull away from Ian, but he also doesn't rock back into him. Ian's achingly hard, and the animalistic part of his brain, detached from reason, urges him to use Max, to hold Max down and rut his hardness against that soft, soft ass. Hold Max down and use him until he cums in his boxers.

But Ian isn't that drunk, unfortunately.

"Max....maybe we should stop?" Ian sighs, the voice of reason. "Think about this...think in the morning we might feel differently."

"No. Don't think," Max argues like a pouting toddler. "You're just being a good boyfriend. Treating- treating me good. Touching me like a boyfriend. It's...funny?"

With that Max grinds back into Ian. It's no accident. This is purposeful now. Ian can't hold back the whimper, and there's still nothing funny about how achingly hard he is pushed up against his best friend's bum. There's nothing funny about how his fingers have settled on the waistband of Max's boxers. As soft as Max's ass and thighs and belly are, Ian knows there's a dick between his legs, and he doesn't like boys, right?

He pulls away when his fingers brush against Max's clothed cock. 

"Jesus, Max- I think- you're just hammered, and we're just-"

Max twists around in his grip, so their chests are pressed together, and he kisses Ian quiet. Ian squeaks, and his cock jumps. He can feel Max, nice and thick against his leg, and the feeling of a boy's hard cock so close to him makes his stomach tighten with a curious mix of disgust and arousal.

"Just do it," Max demands, voice pathetically breaking. "Treat me like your fucking girlfriend."

Ian doesn't think about what it means. Why Max seems to be responding to his touch like this. Why Ian's responding to Max's words. There's too many dark, uncertain answers. So instead of thinking, Ian twists Max around; this time with purpose. There's not a breath of hesitation as Ian pushes himself up against Max. He slides his still clothed cock against the crack of Max's ass in a slow, stuttering rhythm.

"Ah, fuck- what a- what a good girlfriend you are," Ian groans, and he can hear Max's pathetic whimper in response. Ian has his hands circled around the slight curve of Max's tummy, holding him in place as he thrusts. Up. Down. Up. Down. Ian's breathing grows ragged as he speeds up his pace. It's uncomfortable with both of their boxers still on and no lubrication. He's gonna get a rug burn like this. It's more painful than pleasurable, but Ian likes it like that.

Max's curses, and it's obvious he's desperate for it. It comes in the hitch of his breathe when Ian whispers "shh, princess." It comes in the shiver up his spine when Ian rocks against him. It comes in the shaking of his fingertips when Ian interlaces them with his.

"Am I a good girl?" Max asks, and his voice sounds distant and soft, not a single profanity. It's like Ian is hearing a side to Max that nobody else has heard, maybe nobody else will ever hear. Ian squeezes Max's fingertips, kisses his neck, and thrusts upward into his ass.

"Such a good girl," Ian says, not a hint of irony at the ridiculous sentiment. "Always such a good girl for me. Always. So, oh god, so fucking good. So tight and wet."

He lets go of Max's hand and lets his finger once more graze against Max's bulge. When he feels the wetness between Max's legs and realizes that he's come, untouched, it pushes him over the edge.

Ian cums silently, hips stuttering into the softness of Max's ass. He cums with a repressed groan, voice breaking in the back of his throat.

Ian immediately rolls over, kicking off his ruined boxers. Too tired to think.

There's a soft sniffle in the dark.

Blissful sleep.

\------------

"So fucking hammered last night. Don't remember a thing," Max says as he steps out of the shower. He doesn't meet Ian's eyes as he shakes out his wet hair with one hand and holds up the towel with his other hand.

"Chad had the retarded idea to go to a gay bar, and I pretended to be your boyfriend to stop some surfer dude from riding your ass," Ian explains with a shrug. _Oh yeah, and then I proceeded to ride your ass._

"Yeah? Don't remember it that much."

"Me neither."

That should have been the end of it, but it's not because...he's Ian.

\------------

He finds a pair of Pikachu Pokemon panties in Max's collection room. There's a whole drawer of strange collectors items. He's sure the panties are worth more if they're untouched, but they're worth more to Ian....touched.

He doesn't say anything, but he leaves them on Max's pillow. No note. No explanation.

Ian doesn't have time to psychoanalyze himself, but judging by the shiver that runs down his spine as he sneaks out of Max's room, he's hungry for more of whatever happened last night. He's too scared to talk about it directly. Doesn't want to startle Max with a confrontation. There's no easy way to say 'hey, I really liked getting off on you, and I think you liked it too.' The details are blurry but Ian distinctly remembers Max's wet boxers, meaning he'd come untouched from Ian rubbing off against him.

They filmed yesterday, so the two of them spend the day editing footage five feet away (cause they're not gay). Ian has his headphones on, trying to figure out if this is a funny clip to put in when Max gets up to go to his room. Ian stiffens, heart pounding. He keeps his eyes forward. Swallows.

Max comes back, and Ian doesn't look up even though he wants to see if he can make out the outline of the panties through Max's clothes. Why would he change into them? (But alternatively...why wouldn't he?).

Ian clears his throat: "Hey, uh, there's this bar- a straight bar that Chad was telling me about. Do you wanna...?"

Max meets his eyes for the first time today, and he does a half shrug. He's not giving Ian much to work with. He's so different from drunk Max, who was very open to what he wanted.

"The club's not really my scene."

"Same," Ian sighs in relief. "You wanna just order pizza and get wasted by ourselves? Fuck that fat cunt."

"Hell yeah," Max smiles and moves closer to Ian. As the sun starts to set, Max continually inches closer and closer. Ian pretends not to notice that their toes are touching as he dials up the phone to order pizza. His cock, remembering the activities of last night, twitches when Max's hand settles on his knee and lightly squeezes. Yep, just dudes touching each other.

Then Max gets up and brings them both beers.

"My girlfriend's bringing me a cold one, huh?"

Max freezes, cheeks flushed, and Ian's just about to apologize when-

"Yeah, gotta treat you right before you go back to America and forget about this sweet piece of Aussie ass."

"Hard to forget," Ian says with an easy smile as he cracks it open, and Max settles under the curve of his arm. His chest is warm as Max's soft head rests on him. How is it that they've already kissed, but, somehow, this sweet shit feels worse? Maybe because Ian can easily imagine that it's real- that Max is his and his alone. That he really would be eager to bring Ian a beer and cuddle up with him to watch Rick and Morty re-runs.

They're silent for a minute as Ian sips and Max chugs his drink in five gulps, burps, and then crushes his can in his hand. Max is clearly a bro. Just a bro that Ian wants to fuck. Hard.

Max, made bold by the buzz, looks directly up at him. Ian can feel his gaze, but he keeps typing up an email on his lap top.

"Ian, about last night..."

"You mean the night you don't remember?"

"I mean I kinda remember...yeah, we cuddled and shit."

"And shit," Ian repeats, flushing.

"Look we did some shit, and maybe I said some shit I didn't actually mean. It's-" Max is red and sputtering for words. "It doesn't mean anything, right? Shit happens."

"Shit happens. Yeah." _And I want it to keep happening._

They're saved by the doorbell, and Ian disentangles himself from Max to go answer it.

"Oh, hey, you're the dude from last night," Ian word vomits. "Johnny, right?"

"Right. How's your, uh, girlfriend?" the man says with a wink. "Hope you made good use of those pretty lips, mate."

"Ah, yeah sure," Ian mutters as he counts out the change. Shit. He's short. He turns to go find his wallet, but it's lost under the cushions. He turns to Max, who's got a shit eating grin. There's also two more crushed beer cans by his feet.

"For a kiss," Max says, fanning the money.

Ian tries to grab the money from him, but Max pulls away with a shriek. He runs to the door, and then Max's grin widens when he sees Johnny. He turns on the full force of his charm.

"Oh, hey there, pizza boy. My boyfriend won't kiss me. Won't you show him how it's done?" 

Johnny, the asshole, leans forward to peck Max on the lips. _Aw, hell no_. Ian's once more forced to re-assert his claim. Maybe it's the buzz of alcohol now in his system or the knowledge of what Max likes because he forcefully grabs Max by his hair as he comes up behind him and yanks him into a kiss. It's violent and at an awkward angle, but, judging by Max's eager whimper, it's just what he wanted.

"You two are fucking insane, know that?" Johnny says with a laugh and shake of his golden head. He leaves Ian with a a pizza and a hell of a semi, bulging against his khaki shorts. Max just opens the box, right in the middle of the hallway, and scarfs down a slice of pizza. It leaves his red lips shiny with grease, and Ian wishes Johnny had stayed, so he'd have an excuse to kiss Max all he wanted.

"'S good," Max says and belches again as they make their way back to the living room.

"You're disgusting."

"And you still love me, huh, Rocky?" Max says in his best Marge Simpson voice.

Ian collapses onto the couch, and he feels like his mind is being fucked with. This is all a joke until...well, until it's not. And Ian hasn't been laughing much.

Max sits on Ian's lap. He's clearly drunk away all his inhibitions. Ian feels like he's dealing with two different people- sober Max, who claims 'gay shit happens,' and drunk Max, who makes 'gay shit happen.' Ian should get more intoxicated, but he's drunk on the smell of Max's shampooed hair. His eyes flutter as he wraps his arms around Max's soft waist and buries his face into the crook of his neck. Yeah, sober Ian's still down, and, if he's being honest with himself (which he's not), Ian wants to remember this.

"I think my girlfriend's had enough to drunk," he says, voice steady in Max's ear as he interlaces his fingers over the sweet curve of Max's tummy. It feels so forbidden to hold Max like this when the lights are still on, and there's no Johnny to watch. There's no bet here. There's no joke. There's nothing but Ian pressing a soft kiss to the nape of Max's neck.

"No, I want more, you American cunt," Max whines and squirms, barely trying to break out of Ian's tight grip. He just likes to struggle, so he can feel like he has no choice, Ian realizes. Max likes being held down because then he doesn't have to blame himself for the consequences. He likes to be dominated because then he can be helpless.

The epiphany comes to Ian as Max wriggles right against above his cock. Ian tightens his grip.

"Shh, that's enough, princess. You're not allowed to have any more," Ian says, and he can feel Max shiver in his arms. Oh yes, he likes this more than he'll ever admit. Max stops struggling and goes limp, relaxing into Ian's touch. There's nothing like holding your best friend on your lap and pretending that you're both not getting off on the power dynamics. Ian had no idea that he'd ever wanted to dominate someone until Max. Now, there's nothing more satisfying than holding him and whispering dirty things into his ear.

"It's not comfy. My...my undies are tight," Max says, and his voice has reverted to the soft one from last night. The one free from curses. Ian's not sure what it means, but he knows that this Max won't make any protests when he slips his hands under his shirt and then down under his shorts to... _oh!_

"You're wearing the panties," Ian snickers, and he can't help smirking as he tugs on them. Max just wiggles and whimpers in assent.

"You left them for me," he says, almost sweetly. Oh fuck, Ian's chest twists at the same time that his cock twitches. He can't stop himself from rutting up into the softness of Max's ass because he's only human. Ian knows that they both know what they're doing...but he also keeps playing dumb.

"So why'd you put them on?"

"Cause you know..."

"I know what, Max? Use your words."

Ian tugs at the waistband of the panties, so the yellow of pikachu's face is visible. Max sharply inhales and the blue of his shorts crinkle. Ian hasn't even (directly) touched him, just tagged at his panties and Max is already hard. It's pretty fucking gay to hold a dude on your lap, and you both get erections. Ian's just too far gone to care.

"Cause I'm- I'm your, you know, I'm yer fucking-" Ian tugs sharply at Max's panties. "I'm your girlfriend. Gotta dress like it."

 _Fuck, yeah, you are,_ Ian thinks darkly, and he's not sure where this side of him has come out. This side of him wants to strip Max down to nothing but his panties and make him choke on his cock. This side of him wants to spank Max's ass until it's as red as pikachu's face. This side of him wants too many things he's not supposed to want.

He lets his fingers sink slowly down between Max's thighs, and, yeah, that's his friend's cock. It feels so strange to have his fingers hovering over it. He experimentally rubs his thumb against the warmth, and it seems the absorbent panties have caught a couple drops of precum. Max's hips roll up into Ian's hand as he gropes him.

"Already wet for me," Ian plays along, wondering if it's too far, but Max's cock happily twitches in response.

"Yeah," Max squeaks, voice two octaves higher than usual. "Guess I am."

Then Ian's getting kinda weird-ed out with groping him, so he pulls his hand out. He doesn't miss the sigh from Max at the loss.

"What do you want?"

Max just rocks back into him, clearly seeking something. It's last night all over again; Max is needy but unable to verbalize what he wants. If it wasn't kind of sad, it'd be cute. But mostly it's annoying because Ian doesn't want to do anything to Max that Max doesn't want. He wished that they could make the rules of this game more clear.

Ian sighs, "Max. Come on. I need you to tell me what you need or want or whatever."

"To be your girlfriend."

"And what does that entail?"

"It entails you...you know...doing fucking couple-y shit," Max mumbles and makes a vague motion. He's back to cursing and squirming, uncomfortable with either the admission or the lack of tightness around his waist. Probably both.

That's the most Ian's gonna to get Max to admit. Fine. Ian rests his chin against Max's shoulder and rubs his hands up and down Max's thick thighs. They invitingly spread. Hey, that's pretty good.

"Couple-y shit? Like what? Fetching me beers?...sleeping in bed with me?...putting on panties I leave out for you?...kissing?...fucking....?"

Max makes a subtle nodding motion, and he sighs in relief as Ian tightens his hands around his waist again. It must be very freeing for Max to not have to worry about the implications. To leave all the work in Ian's capable hands. The rush of power at having Max - _the_ Maxmoefoe- so helpless in his arms makes Ian's cock throb.

Ian just wants to see Max in the stupid Pikachu panties. So he reaches down and pops open the button of his shorts, kisses Max's hot cheeks, and pulls them down. This is so different from last night. The lights are still on, so he can see how what he's doing. He can see the red tint of Max's face, the thickness of his thighs and cocks, stretching out poor Pikachu's face, and the glazed look in his eyes. Max is so fucking cute that Ian has to lean forward and kiss him again. His own cock is straining against Max's ass.

"So pretty for me," Ian rasps. "Such a good, pretty girl."

Ian doesn't touch Max again because he has a feeling that any more stimulation will have Max cumming inside his panties. Oh, that's a nice thought. Ian quite likes that image.

"Would my pretty girlfriend be good enough to..." he pauses and licks his lips. "Suck me off?"

Max subtly shakes his head. Fuck. Ok, no too far.

That's fine. Ian can get off just from the sight of Max sitting in his lap with those innocent looking panties obscenely stretched out. Ian closes his eyes and starts to rock forward now. Back. Forth. Back. Forth. He's developing a rhythm just like last night. He's rambling nonsense into Max's ear that goes a little like-

"Wanna be inside your tight, little pussy. Wanna fuck you so hard, you forget your name. Wanna push you against the couch and cum inside you. Wanna make you scream my name so loud the neighbors fucking file a complaint."

Max giggles at the last one, but it quickly turns into a moan. Ian bites down on Max's neck to stop his stupid mouth from rambling. He's fully clothed but, judging by the tugging in the pit of his stomach, seconds away from cumming.

"I-ian," Max whimpers, and, fuck yeah, that's enough to push him over the edge.

Ian, tears running down his cheeks, lets himself cum. He cums with a pathetic toe-curling gasp against the softness of Max's ass. He reaches down to help Max over the edge, and, the moment his hand curls around his bulge, Max literally kneels over with a curse. He cums hard and fast.

They're both left sticky and kinda confused. Ian kinda wants to kiss Max, but the Australian's coming out of his glazed-eye-state.

_Fuck, what did we just do?_

"These were expensive panties, fuckface," Max finally says as he stumbles to his unsteady feet. Ian reaches out to help him with a weak "sorry," but Max slaps away his hand. Alright then.

Ian groans. He stumbles to his bedroom, feeling dirty and embarrassed. He strips down and finds a new pair of boxers. He hasn't come in these many boxers since he was a teenage boy. Max makes him feel like he's young again and just learning how to make love. To be fair, they didn't really make love so much as...fuck? Not even fuck. Blindly grope and tease and cum is more like it.

He curls up under the blankets, and the last thing he's expecting is the creak of the door. Max tugs at his sheets without a word and curls up besides Ian. They've just cum, so it seems he's not looking for anything. Ian sighs softly, and he happily allows himself to be held. It's nice to be the little spoon for a moment. They fall asleep like that.

\------------

"Y'all acting like a pair of faggots," Chad notes the next day as Max reaches over to steal food off of Ian's plate.

Max freezes and flushes.

"At least we're getting some action. What's the least thing that touched your dick? Your right hand?" Ian fires back. Sober, his quick wit is his sharpest weapon. Max's hand squeezes his knee under the table. Sober or drunk, Max is his greatest weakness.

They go to his room to film the last episode of Pack VS Pack. Max explains his plan to release them over the course of the next couple months, and Ian nods, watching his mouth move. It's distracting to think that he knows what they feel like against him.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," Ian realizes, suddenly. Max nods, but his face is blank.

Ian wants to say something, but he doesn't know how to start. 'Uh, hey. Why do I keep getting off against you? Why do you keep letting me? Why do I keep calling you my girlfriend? Why do I want it to continue?' The problem is there's too many questions. Instead, they just stay silent. When they finish filming, Max shifts over, so he's seated on Ian's lap, and -no joke- his heart skips a fucking beat. It's like his body's been trained like Pavlov's dog, and Max's softness against him is a cue to get hard.

"Woah, down boy," Max teases as he settles into Ian's lap, making himself comfortable. "I'm too sober for any of that."

 _Ah, so it's a drunk thing_ , Ian thinks unhappily. He pushes Max off of him and adjusts himself.

"What?" Ian snaps at Max, who's looking at him with an unreadable expression.

"You don't want to...?"

"I do, but you just said you're too sober."

"Doesn't mean we can't...." Max trails off again, makes a chugging motion, and nods over at the mini fridge in his room. Do all Australians drink this much?

"Dude, no. It's two in the afternoon."

"So?"

"So I don't think you should have to get wasted for us to, you know, do the whole weird girlfriend game."

"Cunt," Max says and flinches at 'girlfriend,' which makes Ian feel even weirder. Ian wants to be open, but he doesn't want to scare off Max.

"Why'd you sleep in my bed last night?"

Max shrugs.

"No, forreal."

"I was cold."

"Cold? It was ninety degrees."

Max picks at his nails and shrugs again: "Your bed is nicer."

"Because...I'm there?"

He doesn't answer. Ian cups Max's chin in his hands and turns it towards him.

"Okay, Max. The whole nonverbal thing is cute when we're doing whatever we do, but it's not cute when I'm trying to have a straight -not that any of this is straight- forward conversation. So I'm going to ask questions, and you're going to either nod or shake your head. Got it?"

He nods, cheeks flushed. Ian realizes that he just used That Voice with Max. Great. He's really turning into Christian Gay from that Fifty Shades of Puke, huh?

"You're my friend."

Max enthusiastically nods and meets Ian's eyes. _Phew_.

"You're my best friend."

Another enthusiastic nod.

"You want to be more than friends."

A hesitant nod.

"You like it when, uh, grind?"

A confident nod. Huh.

"You like it when we kiss?"

Max smirks and leans forward to peck him on the lips. Ian smiles, and his heart twists at the cute gesture.

"You...like to be dominated?"

Max shakes his head, covers his face, and then shrug-nods. Okay, great. Mixed signals.

"You like that it's me, specifically, who touches you. And not, like, that Johnny Bravo looking dude?"

Max laughs: "You have to ask straightforward questions, fuckface."

As Ian has been asking questions, they've been getting closer and closer together. Max's hand is resting on his knee again. Ian realizes Max is slowly but surely learning to be open. Maybe all he needs is time, Ian realizes.

"Okay. I'm just gonna tell you how I feel, is that cool? I really fucking like you, Max. I wouldn't do this gay ass shit with anyone, ok? Not even if I got a real girlfriend-" Max flinches. "Not even then would I do any of that to her. But I like you, so I'd do anything you want, which is sad and gay. But also...you make me more happy than miserable. So...yeah."

Ian finishes and pushes up his glasses. His cheeks are red, and he can't believe he just said all of that. It's too much, and he's afraid Max will run away. Instead, the Australian boy just rests his head against Ian's shoulder. He wraps his arm around Max. _Say something_ , Ian wills.

"I don't want you to get a "real" girlfriend. I'm pretty fucking real," Max finally admits.

"Okay," Ian says with a smile. "I won't."

They spend the rest of the evening watching Chef on the couch. Max only needs to have one beer before he moves onto Ian's lap. Ian squeezes him tightly, holding him in place. When he unzips Max's jeans, he smirks. Pink panties. Fuck yeah.

Ian makes Max cum with nothing but his clever mouth.

\------------

There's a chance they'll have to talk about this situation before Ian leaves, but they both make sure there's no time. They fill the conversations with endless trivia. They fill the lulls with memes. They fill the truth with a spew of nonsense.

So by the time Ian's rolling his luggage through the airport, they're both wound up. Max keeps bumping their shoulders together, and it can't be an accident now. They're sober and sad.

Ian's nursing a hell of a hang over. The whole trip has been such a high that he's afraid what it'll mean when he comes back down. He doesn't want to crash. Ugh, thinking about crashes in airports is a bad idea.

"So, uh, bye? See you whenever the ad money comes through for another trip?" Ian says, going for lighthearted. It comes closer to ass hat.

"Yeah, with my channel dying and all...I'll probably need you to come back. Shoot the second season of pack versus pack, you know?"

All Ian knows is that Max is staring down at his feet instead of up at him. He hesitantly leans in to hug Max. The boy goes rigid in his grip and then hugs him back.

Oh, shit, is Max crying? Ian isn't good with dealing with emotions, so he awkwardly rubs Max's back. He wants to say something like 'I'll come back for my girlfriend' or 'I'll send you some cute panties.'

Instead, Ian stays silent.

"I'll miss you, you stupid American cunt," Max sniffs.

Ian knows it's gay 'cause they're not together or anything, but he really wants to kiss Max right now. He can't though, not in public. So he leans in and ruffles his hand through Max's hair instead.

"I'll miss you too, you Aussie asshole."

\------------

**Author's Note:**

> Lemme know if you wanna see more like this. Leave any suggestions for smutty scenarios (or tell me if you liked this filth lmao). 
> 
> You can also find me at my Tumblr (qweenkimchi) <3


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